


Fifty: Harry Potter and John Watson

by Yulisa



Series: Fifty [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Harry, Birds, Canaries, Christmas, Cookies, Cream, Crossover, Doctor John Watson, Drabble, F/F, F/M, FRCS, Fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons, Friendship, Gen, George Cross, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry is Lord Black, Harry is Lord Potter, Harry mothering John, High Lord Gryffindor, High Lord Slytherin, Huginn and Muninn - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I love tea, Jam, John is a Very Good Doctor, Knight Harry, Lord Gaunt, M/M, Memories, Most Noble Order of the Garter, Nightmares, Nighttime Confessions, Owls, PTSD John, Pictures, Pie, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Harry, Prestigous Harry, Random & Short, Ravens, Right of Conquest, Shocked Sherlock Holmes, Swearing, TEA IS THE DRINK OF GODS, Tea, Victoria Cross, baby Redstart, lmao Odin's ravens, or Sherlock pisses off the wrong guy, random word generator prompts, sparrows, the wrong guy being Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulisa/pseuds/Yulisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which someone finally sees John Watson as more than Sherlock’s tagalong or the Freak’s pet. Drabble/snapshot-fic.<br/>(50 randomly generated prompts; rating may go up in future chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> I used a random word generator to make a fifty word list. Hopefully, this'll get me back into the flow of posting stories/chapters.

1\. Welcome

 

John rubbed his face wearily as he unlocked the door to 221 Baker Street. Sighing, he stretched, his whole body aching from a long day at the surgery after running around London on another chase with Sherlock. He half-stumbled up the stairs to flat B, fumbling to unlock the door as his vision blurred with exhaustion. He finally got the damn key into the lock and tumbled into the flat as the door opened.

 

His vision went black.

 

John groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He was on the floor, half-inside the flat and half-out. Cursing, he struggled to push himself up – he must’ve passed out from lack of sleep. Sherlock, the bloody cock, seemed to never be touched by exhaustion after running around the city on harebrained chases.

 

Dimly, he registered the sound of a door opening and hurried but quiet footsteps rushing up the stairs towards him. He turned towards the person coming towards him – _couldn’t be Mrs. Hudson, it’s too quiet and graceful for that, but not Sherlock either, he only ever rushes_ out _of the flat for a case_ – and caught a glimpse of jet black curls and emerald green before he seemed to lose all strength.

 

“Are you alright?!” The face of a worried male appeared above him, a hand gently taking his pulse at his wrist as green eyes tracked the seconds with an odd pocketwatch.

 

John wanted to demand the man let his wrist go – to know who the bloody hell was in 221 Baker Street and why the hell had he come out of 221C; he had heard the man rushing up two flights of stairs and that could only happen if he was coming from flat C – but he could feel himself slackening as days without sleep caught up to him.

 

The last thing he saw before everything went black was green.

 

“This is an interesting welcome."


	2. Care

2\. Care

 

John woke up slowly, his mind fuzzy and content in a way it hadn’t been since before Afghanistan. His body felt utterly relaxed, floating on something soft and warm. _Where was he?_ He thought sleepily, his eyes exploring his surroundings as he lay there contentedly.

 

He was in an elegant room, the walls painted a beautiful mural of a forest while the furniture was a sleek-looking dark brown wood. His mind told him he should be alarmed – what was this place – but his instincts told him he had been safe.

 

It had been a while since he had listened to his own instincts, the past few months a hectic whirlwind as he was caught up in the tornado that was Sherlock and he lost the grasp he had over trusting his own feelings.

 

The door opened and he watched as the man who’d found him as he was passing out approached the bed. Cautiously, he pushed himself up, finger curling in the bedsheets – _a dark mahogany silk_ , he noticed absently. His eyes tracked the other man as he set a tray down on the nightstand next to the bed.

 

“Are you alright?” A dulcet voice pulled his attention away from the food and mug on the tray.

 

“I feel amazing,” John confessed, “better than I have in a long while.”

 

The other man smiled at him, settling down at the edge of the bed. “You collapsed from exhaustion, but I’m sure you know that, being a doctor yourself. It’s always funny how doctors are always the ones that take care of others but never themselves.”

 

John blushed, embarrassed. “It’s been a hectic week.”

 

“Your stress has been going on longer than a week.” The man – _he should really ask his name_ – told him sternly. “When was the last time you actually took care of yourself?”

 

He had no answer to that.

 

The man sighed. “Well, you slept for almost twenty hours, so you’re well-rested by now, I’d say.” He turned back to the tray he had brought it. “Here, you should eat something.”

 

John glanced down at the tray and his stomach rumbled loudly at the bowl of spaghetti and the plate of cut fruit. He flushed at the noise, reaching for the mug of tea and sipping from it to hide his embarrassment.

 

The man smiled at him, his eyes understanding. “I’ll leave you to eat then, call me if you need anything.

 

“W-wait,” John blurted as the man rose from the bed. He blushed again as the man turned to look at him, his green eyes questioning. “What’s your name? I’m John Watson.”

 

The man smiled. “Hello, John Watson. My name is Hadrian Potter.

 

“Call me Harry.”


	3. Complete

3\. Complete

 

John finished his meal, for once eating something that wasn’t takeout or eggs and toast. He sighed happily, his stomach rumbling contentedly as he savored the last of the amazing tea. _He’d have to remember to ask Harry where he’d gotten his tea_.

 

He sighed mournfully after he swallowed the last dregs of the heavenly tea. He debated over whether or not it would be impolite to ask, _beg_ , for more of that delicious tea after everything Harry had already done for him. _He’d already imposed a lot_ , he reasoned. _It wouldn’t hurt to ask for a bit more; Harry did say I could ask him for anything else_.

 

He slowly climbed off the large bed, aware that he shouldn’t move too quickly to stand after being off his feet for almost a full day. _Shit_ , he realized. _He hadn’t called in sick at the surgery_. With a sigh, he resigned himself to attempting to explain himself to an already fed-up boss. He’d probably have to work on his résumé again.

 

He picked up the tray, carefully balancing the empty dishes on it before moving towards the door. He peeked out of the room, but didn’t see any sign of Harry.

 

“Hello?” he called out softly, stepping out into what seemed to be the living room. “Harry? Are you here?”

 

There was no response so he glanced through the four other doorways until he found the kitchen before heading to the sink so he could wash and dry the dishes.

 

Once he was finished, he found himself awkwardly hovering in the middle of the living room. An insistent pressure in his bladder forced him to make his way into the bathroom he had glanced into earlier.

 

John sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were brighter, the shadows beneath them had receded quite a bit. _He really had needed a break_. He splashed some water on his face, wiping away the grit of sleep from his eyes before rubbing his face dry with a ridiculously soft towel.

 

He found himself sinking into the leather couch, staring dazedly at the forest mural on the wall as he waited for his host to return.

 

He didn’t realize he had fallen into a light doze until the door of the flat slammed open with a loud bang. He startled, jumping up off the couch before stumbling as his head spun and his vision blurred.

 

Warm hands caught him and steadied him against an equally warm shoulder.

 

John looked up and met concerned green eyes.

 

“Your flat mate is a _complete_ arse.”


	4. Drum (An Interlude)

4\. Drum (An Interlude)

 

Sometimes, when they sat down to tell each other of their pasts, they’d curl up together beneath Harry’s warmest quilts and breathe out their stories and stilted whispers. Tears mixed and hands clasped between them.

 

They'd both marched to the drums of war, fought with the drums of death reverberating through their chests. It was a battle song no one else could understand unless they themselves had survived through the midst of war.

 

And, sometimes, they found themselves caught back in the past, in the war; the thunderous beat of drums deafening their ears, fear and pain rising through their chests, choking them on the memories, the pain pain pain.

 

But, sometimes, when Harry woke screaming and shuddering, trapped in the nightmares of the past, John would hold him, press his ear to his chest and let him fall asleep the drum of his heart, it could drown out the rest of the world.

 

And when they woke in the morning, their eyes would be clearer, their minds no longer recalling the vestiges of war that would always be within them, but rather the thrums of their heartbeats twining as one.

 

And when John woke up screaming, he knew that Harry would always be there.


	5. Gift

5\. Gift

 

The first time John met Teddy was just a week after Harry had dragged him back to 221C after he had fainted – “Bloody hell, Harry, _passed out_ not _fainted_ , I’m not a bloody girl.” – and he had come back to knock on his neighbor’s door with a plate of cookies firmly in hand as a thank-you to the man for helping him after he had _passed out_ (not fainted, never fainted).

 

He had rapped firmly on the door before he chickened out. _He fought in bloody Afghanistan; he could thank someone for helping him and apologize for the inconvenience after fighting in a war_ – never mind that the “someone” was a new neighbor who had just moved in and the thank-you gift should’ve been a welcoming gift.

 

And, admittedly, the gift was a bit of an apology gift for the arse-ness of his holy arse-iness Sherlock.

 

But never mind that small fact.

 

He was brought from his thoughts when the door opened and he opened his mouth to greet his new neighbor…only to see a bright blue shock of hair at a third of the height he expected the person to be. Blinking, he registered that the blue hair belonged to a toddler peering curiously up at him, holding a sippy-cup of what looked like…carrot juice?

 

(Of course, he was later corrected by Harry when he asked and was informed that it was pumpkin juice. _Pumpkin juice??_ )

 

“Who’re you?” The boy lisped around the straw in his mouth.

 

John squatted down to face the young toddler who had opened the door – _how had the kid even reached the door handle?_ – and smiled at the adorable boy.

 

“Hullo, mister.” John stuck out a hand for the boy to shake. “I’m John. What’s your name?”

 

“M’Teddy.” The boy beamed up at John and wrapped his chubby fingers around John’s index finger. “Are you lookin’ fo’ Papa?”

 

“Yes,” John smiled back. “I’m your Papa’s neighbor, I came over to share some cookies with you and your Papa.”

 

He watched amusedly as the boy squealed and spun to dart of to where, presumably, Harry was.

 

“Papa! Papa!! COOKIES!!”

 

John stepped inside the flat (basement-flat??) but left the door open so he could leave after giving Harry the cookies. He looked around the flat, a wry grin curling his lips at the toys scattered around the living room.

 

“Hello, John.” Harry greeted him with a soft smile, his arm supporting Teddy as the toddler clung to his side like a limpet. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Great, thanks, Harry,” John smiled back before proffering his plate of cookies. “I brought you some cookies as a thank-you.”

 

A warmer smile lit Harry’s face. “That sounds wonderful. It’ll be perfect for after dinner. Speaking of which, why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure Teddy would love to have another friend.”

 

The first time John met Teddy was the first time since before Afghanistan that he’d felt at home.


	6. Frame

6\. Frame

 

Out of all his pictures, John only placed one in a frame. It was a gift from Harry, a frame of beautiful wrought iron that gleamed a light silver in the dewy light of dawn and darkened to a tarnished silver in stirrings of dusk.

 

The picture was of them, Harry and John, curled together on a loveseat in front of the fireplace, thick quilt wrapped around them as they dozed, heads resting against each other. Teddy was sitting on the thick rug in front of them, head resting on their laps as he snoozed as well, one hand tangled in the quilt and the other curled possessively around John’s.

 

The picture had been taken on Christmas by Andromeda after they had fallen asleep during the early hours of morning after Teddy had insisted on waiting up until midnight. They had woken up to Andy’s warm smile and mugs of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows (because it was Christmas).

 

A week and a half later, she had pulled him aside and gently pressed the wizarding photo into his hand with a soft smile before she left to visit her sister, Narcissa. He’d stared down at it, the inside of his chest warming with some inexplicable feeling as a smile stole across his face.

 

It had seemed so perfect when, three months later, on his birthday, Harry had given him the beautiful frame.

 

With a smile, he settled the framed picture on the nightstand next to their bed before leaving the bedroom at Harry’s call of “Dinner’s on the table!”

 

He was sure Harry would love the picture when he saw it later.

 

-

 

And if anyone cared to know, he kept the rest of his pictures neatly tucked away in a small chest after years of military life and trained him to keep his worldly possessions in an easily accessible and portable place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my newly posted Fifty: Harry Potter and Hisoka.


	7. Rule

7\. Rule

 

They had never set any ground work for their…relationship; after all, it was hard to do so when they had never quite discussed anything. They had fallen together, friendship and comfort slowly evolving into something _more_. Before either he or Harry had realized it, they had been closer to each other than they had ever been with anyone else.

 

Even so, there was still one unspoken rule between them.

 

 _No lies_.

 

If they didn’t want to talk about something, they had to say so instead of lying. It was a silent understanding between the two of them – no matter how they turned out, how anything turned out, they would never lie to each other. Never to each other.

 

It was hard.

 

Sometimes there were the bad days, when Harry would wake up, tossing and screaming in the throes of a nightmare, clawing at unseen enemies. Or when John would bolt awake, the burning of a bullet ripping its way through his shoulder tearing him away from the frontlines of war once again.

 

But they would always be there for each other, their arms wrapped tightly around each other as if they were the only ones keeping the other from falling to pieces.

 

Some nights, they’d lie awake, their voices gentle whispers and quiet exhales as their secrets and horrors spilled into the darkness between them.

 

Other nights, they’d simply curl together, their breaths mixing between them as they breathed as one.

 

-

 

What they had wasn’t perfect – their dysfunctional family – but it was _theirs_ and perfect for them.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been having a hard time with my parents and school, so I’ve kind of been using this as a bit of an angst-y stress reliever.


	8. Birds

8\. Birds

 

One day, John realized Harry seemed to naturally waft bird pheromones. It wasn’t until their flat was hosting a collection of different birds that had made their home after Harry had brought them back that John had come to the realization that humans weren’t the only species that seemed to naturally gravitate to Harry. (With the notable exception of Sherlock, of course – but who ever said he was normal?)

 

First, there was a majestic, fierce looking eagle-owl with piercing orange-gold eyes. He hissed and snapped if anyone but Harry approached him. It took John three months and a multitude of offerings before Artemis deemed him worthy enough of being in his space.

 

Then, Harry brought home an injured sparrow he had found lying on the ground after an alley cat had attacked it before losing interest and leaving the sparrow to die. John had watched with a sense of resigned and impending doom as Harry had fondly dubbed the little bird Cheep after it had refused to leave.

 

A few weeks later, a bright yellow canary had found its way into Harry’s nest of hair and refused to leave until Harry had entered the flat, whereupon it had fluttered over the area sectioned off for Artemis and Cheep and promptly made itself home.

 

Less than two months later, John had watched exasperatedly as Harry had carried home what looked like a baby redstart after it had fallen from its mother’s nest.

 

A month later, John resigned himself to living a life with Harry and feathers and bird poop as he found himself staring at two ravens after coming home from a day at the surgery. He had grinned wryly with exasperation as Harry had fondly named the two ravens Huginn and Muninn and promptly proceeded to smother all the birds with love.

 

-

 

 _Well_ , he thought wryly, _this wasn’t quite what he had imagined for his future when he was younger, but what did it matter as long as he had Harry?_

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Monday (and Mondays always suck) so here’s an update to (hopefully) cheer you guys up.
> 
> Please review and cheer me up too? (Pretty please with a cherry on top?)


	9. Jam

9\. Jam

 

“ _Oh my god,_ ” John half-groaned, half-moaned as he bit into another bite of the berry pie Harry had baked. “What do you put in this??”

 

Harry flushed with pleasure. “It’s the jam, I think. I make my own jam too and I put that in the pie as a base for the berries instead of juice or water.”

 

“Well it tastes fan- _bloody_ -tastic so keep doing whatever you’re doing, _please_.” John sighed in pleasure around another bite.

 

Harry fought the silly grin the threatened to consume his face. “Alright then.”

 

-

 

“Have a snack, John.” Harry ordered as he entered their library-study. “You’ve been studying all day. You won’t be able to pass your examinations if you pass out because you haven’t been taking care of yourself. What kind of patients would listen to a doctor who doesn’t follow his own advice?”

 

“Thank you, Harry.” John sighed, setting down his pen and rubbing his eyes wearily as he deigned to rest for the first time in many long hours. “I just don’t feel like I’m prepared enough for it.”

 

“Hey,” Harry chided softly, settling his hip against the table next to John. He reached out and gently ran his fingers soothingly through the short-cropped blonde locks. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. After all, don’t spend years as an army doctor then more time as a surgeon at a clinic for nothing, Captain. You’ve been studying a lot, but you do need to remember to break from time to time, alright?”

 

“Yeah,” John exhaled, leaning closer to wrap his arms around Harry and press his face into the man’s stomach. “I love you, Harry.”

 

“I love you, too, John.” Harry beamed at him, as he always did whenever John told him he loved him. “I, for one, think you’ll do absolutely _smashing_ on your FRCS assessments. Now, eat.”

 

“Alright,” laughed John, as he reached for some toast. He bit into the bread and moaned loudly. “ _Bloody hell_ , your jam.”

 

-

 

Info:

 

The FRCS is the Fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons, which is a professional qualification to practice as a senior surgeon in Ireland or the UK. To get the qualifications you must qualify as a Doctor of medicine, undergo further postgraduate study and training through junior doctor posts, then pass assessments to obtain surgical qualifications.

 

Obviously, being able to practice as a senior surgeon instead of a normal one would open a broad range of new opportunities for John in work and higher positions as well as pay. My theory is that he may have liked to do so before even meeting Harry, but after leaving the war with a tremble in his dominant arm and a psychosomatic limp, he wouldn’t have been able to do so.

 

Meeting Sherlock did cure him of his limp and tremor, but it also resulted in him running around London after Sherlock on a hectic schedule which would barely allow him enough time to hang onto his position as a surgeon at the clinic, let alone being able to study to join the FRCS.

 

So, in my story, after meeting Harry, John really had the time and opportunity to go for FRCS.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been feeling sick (tummy cramps and stuff) and the weather in NY is absolutely terrible. I hope you all are having better days than I am.
> 
> Also, in case anyone cares to know, so far Chapters 12-15 seem like they will be about Sherlock and Harry interactions.
> 
> Reviews cheer me up!!


	10. Cream

10\. Cream

 

John Watson preferred his tea with a bit of cream, no sugar, and just a little warm from a touch of cinnamon.

 

Just _how_ Harry had managed to get his tea perfect after simply eying him critically up and down just once still escaped John’s mind. Harry’s simple acts of amazingness (that was a word, he was sure of it) boggled him every time he thought of it. And every time it happened.

 

He resigned himself to simply accepting it as another _Harry_ thing, along with everything else that happened in their cozy flat.

 

-

 

John looked up as Harry slouched into the flat, hair in disarray and clothes askew. The green-eyed man wobbled over to John before flopping down on the couch next to him, curling up and settling his head into John’s lap. He gave a loud, dramatic sigh as he relaxed into John’s warmth.

 

“What’s wrong?” John suppressed a smile at Harry’s childish mood.

 

“Everything,” Harry pouted up at him. “But I am gasping for a cup of tea. Could you make me a cuppa, John?”

 

“Of course,” John smiled fondly before deftly switching his lap out with a pillow under Harry’s head. He headed over to the kettle and set the water to boil before pulling out their can of loose tea. “How do you take your tea, sir?”

 

“Just one sugar, please.” Harry sighed and relaxed, burrowing into the warmth left behind by John’s body. “No cream for me.”

 

John paused, looking over at Harry confusedly. “Then why do you have cream in the flat?”

 

Harry raised his head off the pillow a bit, staring at John incredulously, an eyebrow quirked. “For you, silly. Why else?”

 

John turned away so the other man couldn’t see the flush rising on his cheeks.

 

“John?” Harry’s voice was closer than before and John sighed as lean arms twined around him, pulling him back into Harry’s embrace. “Don’t forget, this is your home too. This is _our_ home now, love.”

 

John’s flush deepened as the water finally reached a boil, the kettle releasing a loud whistle from the steam.

 

 _Yes_ , he thought as he went to pour some hot water in Harry’s mug. _This was their home now_.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and a closer look into John and Harry’s relationship. (And some info.)


	11. Pump (Water Pump)

11\. Pump (Water Pump)

 

“ _Ohhhhhh_ , _bloody_ _hell_.”

 

Harry’s eyebrow rose as John’s muffled curse floated through the wall between him and the bathroom. His eyebrow quirked up further as he heard loud thuds and more cursing. He set his book to the side after marking the page and rose to wander over to the half-open bathroom door.

 

“What’s wrong, John?” Harry questioned as he leaned against the door frame. His brows furrowed as John gently pushed past him. “John, what – “

 

“Give me a minute, Harry. I need to check something.” John called back over his shoulder as he disappeared through the flat door and up the stairs.

 

-

 

“Bloody buggering fuck.”

 

This time, both Harry’s eyebrows shot up. John didn’t usually curse, let alone multiple times in a short period. He walked over to John, who had sagged wearily against the door frame. “What’s wrong, John?”

 

John rubbed his hand over his face wearily. “The water pump is broken. I just told Mrs. Hudson and she called the repair company but they can’t send someone for another two days.”

 

“Oh,” The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Is that all?”

 

“Wh-what?” John looked at Harry confusedly. “ _Harry_ , we won’t have water for the next two and a half days, at least.”

 

“That doesn’t matter.” Harry said dismissively. “We’ll just go live in a hotel for the next few days and take a break while we’re at it. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

 

“Wha – a break??”

 

“Yes, John.” Harry smiled and leaned into John’s chest, relaxing into the other man as his arms automatically came up to wrap around Harry and tug him closer. “Don’t you think we both deserve a nice break from everything? Hell, we can make it a week or more instead of just a few days. What do you think?”

 

“That…sounds nice.” John sighed into Harry’s messy curls, his arms curling tighter around the green-eyed man. “That sounds really nice. But I doubt the clinic would let me take days off right now.”

 

“Pish, don’t be silly.” Harry scolded exasperatedly. “You finally got your certifications from the FRCS, it’s past time you got a new job now. Maybe as a senior surgeon at one of the bigger hospitals? Then you can dictate your schedule instead of others doing it for you.”

 

“You’re right.” John groaned and sagged in relief. “Thank god, those clinic hours were ridiculous.”

 

“Of course I’m right,” Harry teased. “After all, I have to be or you’re lost without me.”

 

“Yes, yes, you’re a terrible person, let’s go pack some bags then.” John fought back a smile at the pout his lover shot at him as he led the both of them to their room to pack a few bags of clothes and necessities for the next few weeks.

 

-

 

And if, hours before, a few passersby had seen Harry with a hammer and a wrench next to the water pump outside their building…well, it was none of their business, was it?

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more fluff and a chapter that’s more from Harry’s POV than John’s. (And Harry being a sneaky Slytherin, not that he’s done anything wrong after all.)
> 
> If any of you care to know (lol you probably don’t), I feel sick but I’m pretty sure it’s not the flu (I think).


	12. Highfalutin

12\. Highfalutin

 

Highfalutin – (especially of speech, writing, or ideas) pompous or pretentious

 

-

 

Harry knocked briskly on the door of 221B. Mrs. Hudson had told him that the other flat was rented by two occupants and had told him their names as well as a brief description of the two males.

 

By her description, he knew that the man who had passed out just at this door almost a full day previous was John Watson. He had heard of the two flat mate’s exploits from Mrs. Hudson and sighed as he realized that the main reason for John’s devotion and loyalty to the thus far unknown (at least to him) Sherlock Holmes despite the brief time the two men had known each other was John’s need to find a place where he was needed.

 

Harry scowled. Due to that, John hadn’t been taking care of himself as he should have. If this Sherlock Holmes was as brilliant as Mrs. Hudson professed him to be, then why the bloody hell hadn’t the man done something?

 

He was pulled from his thoughts as the door opened and the man that was probably Sherlock Holmes appeared before him for the first time. At this point, Harry cursed the Dursley’s and their neglect as well as the effect malnourishment had on his height and frame. The other man towered above him!

 

“Yes?” Probably Sherlock drawled. “What do you want?”

 

“Hello,” Harry smiled politely at the other man. “My name is Hadrian Potter; call me Harry. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand for probably Sherlock to shake.

 

“Hm.” Probably Sherlock made a curt noise of acknowledgement. “You’re the flat mate Mrs. Hudson mentioned. What do you want?”

 

Harry’s smile sharpened coolly as he retracted his hand. He addressed most definitely Sherlock again. “Your flat mate passed out from exhaustion outside your flat yesterday. I took him to my flat so he could recuperate. I thought you should know, seeing as you are flat mates and friends.”

 

“I see.” Most definitely Sherlock replied dismissively. He moved to close the door.

 

Harry’s hand shot out to stop the door from closing. His eyes blazed with a cold anger. “‘ _I see_ ’? I tell you that your friend passed out from exhaustion and all you have to say is ‘ _I see_ ’?”

 

“John can take care of himself.” Definitely Sherlock and definitely an arse said. “Now if that’s all –”

 

“You’re a right bastard, aren’t you?” Harry snarled. “John may be able to take care of himself, but he’s so busy chasing you around London and taking care of _your_ bloody arse that his own wellbeing gets pushed off to the side. You are his friend. You shouldn’t just dismiss the fact that your friend is ill.”

 

Sherlock sighed. “You may as well stop the act now. I know you’re not just a new neighbor. Mycroft sent you, didn’t he?”

 

“What?” Harry asked in exasperation. “What the bloody hell does that have to do with John?”

 

Sherlock regarded him coolly. “Judging by your posture and behavior, you seem to have training. Not the army, you don’t have the rigid discipline that is always trained into them. A spy? M16, perhaps? What did Mycroft offer you to spy on me? Prestige? A promotion? Money?”

 

“ _What_?” Harry was flabbergasted.

 

“You come from humble upbringing; your family was of a lower class, judging by your malnourishment and small stature. You became a government spy at a rather young age – I still say M16 – and worked your way up the ranks. Mycroft most likely offered you the chance to climb up the ladder even further if you took this assignment to observe me. Am I wrong? Of course I’m not.”

 

Sherlock made to close the door once more, but a firm hand stopped him once again. Harry’s emerald eyes were blazing with frozen fury.

 

“You believe yourself smarter than and above every other person you meet. You have a higher intelligence and ability of deduction than a normal person and thus you are shunned by those around you. You simply believe that they aren’t intelligent enough to appreciate your ability.” Harry snarled. “In truth, people stay away from you simply because you lack the ability to communicate with those around you. Despite having intelligence, you go nowhere in this world if you cannot talk to people.

 

“You show an extreme case of narcissism and I’m willing to bet that one of the reasons you keep John around is a way to feed your ego because – based on the type of person he is – John would have praised you for your ability to deduce from observations rather than shunning you like everyone else.” Harry continued, eyes glaring into the shocked heterochromatic eyes.

 

“As for your comment about my family and upbringing,” Harry hissed, drawing himself up. “You are speaking to Lord Harrison Jameson Potter-Black, Lord of the Noble House of Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, Lord of the Ancient House of Peverell, and High Lord of the Ancient and Honourable House of Gryffindor. I am also Lord of the Ancient House of Gaunt and the High Lord of the Ancient and Honourable House of Slytherin through Right of Conquest. I am a Knight of the Queen and holder of a Victoria Cross and a George Cross. I have been appointed as a member of the Most Noble Order of the Garter by Her Majesty. You’d do well to not offend me, Sherlock Holmes.

 

“You are nothing but a highfalutin _snob_.”

 

With that, Harry whirled and stormed back down the stairs to his flat, leaving behind a Sherlock that – for once in his life – was stunned and gaping.

 

-

 

Half a year later, when Harry finally deigned to tell John just why exactly things were so tense between him and Sherlock, John found himself roaring with laughter as he imagined _just_ how stunned his former flat mate would have looked at that moment.

 

And if he begged Harry for a look at the memory in his pensieve and the two spent the next hour after viewing the memory giggling hysterically, well that wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs, was it?

 

Even if they did start laughing again when they saw Sherlock the next morning.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a long one. Also, a first look at the interactions between Sherlock and Harry. And BAMF Harry is awesome. 
> 
> Review <3 (And I might just write a drabble with your choice of prompt and fandom; it won’t be included in this fic though. If I get enough requests, I’ll make a whole collection in a new fic.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Bare

13\. Bare

 

-

 

_“_ BOY!! _” Vernon’s voice thunders through the house. Loud, stomping feet crash their way up the stairs._

_Harry closes his eyes wearily, hands coming up to rub his face. Dudley must have broken something again and blamed it on him – never mind the fact that Harry had been locked in his room the whole day, behind twelve locks and deadbolts on the door._ Just three more years _, he tells himself. He can leave soon._

_His uncle slammed the door open with such a fury that it crashed into the wall and swung back into his uncle’s grip. The large man advanced on Harry, who had stood resignedly in the center of the room._

_“Boy…” Vernon growled, his face purpled in his rage, veins throbbing in his forehead and neck. “How DARE you break Dudley’s things?! Doing your freaking things around MY HOUSE!”_

_Harry stood there, calmly meeting his uncle’s eyes, fists curled behind his back where no one could see the treacherous trembling of his fingers. He knew what was coming; it wasn’t like this was new._

_“You ungrateful brat.” Vernon sneered at him, hand squeezing tightly around the belt in his hand._ Hah _, Harry scoffed._ It was almost like an old friend.

_“Move!” His uncle snapped at him, a meaty fist swinging violently at Harry’s head._

_Harry ducked the blow on instinct, stepping away to pull his over-sized, threadbare shirt over his head. He dropped it on the ground under him before bracing his arms on the wall. Better to lose a shirt to blood than have to clean blood off the hardwood floor with a bloody back._

_Pain bloomed along his back before his ears registered the_ CRACK! _of the belt against his back. He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles to relax against the blows. It was always worse when he tensed against the strikes._

CRACK _! The belt drew another line of fire along his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the next blow._

 

-

 

It was almost two and a half months into their budding relationship before Harry found the strength to allow John to see him naked and bare.

 

Harry had told John of bits and pieces of his past during the nights as they lay curled together – quiet confessions and retellings of how he had never had the chance to have a childhood, let alone be a normal person. He whispered to John about his old cupboard, about just _how_ his cooking skills were so developed for one so young.

 

John wouldn’t talk at all during those nights; he’d curl his lean frame around his lover’s petite – extended periods of severe malnourishment and neglect, the doctor in his mind whispered – body and wrap his arms so tightly that Harry would laugh breathily and confess that it felt like John’s arms could shield him from everything in the outside world.

 

On some nights, Harry would sob quietly into John’s chest, his body shaking and shuddering so violently, John feared that the younger man might just fall into pieces. He’d hold him extra tight, trying to keep his lover from shattering into fragments too small to piece back together.

 

Harry wasn’t the only one that whispered into the darkness of their bedroom.

 

Some nights, John would be the one with his face settled into the curve of his lover’s neck. He spoke of his time in the Army under Her Majesty’s service – how each kill had branded its mark into his mind until there were too many bodies for him to count. He had no need to keep a count himself, he whispered to Harry, his nightmares did that well enough for him.

 

Every kill he had made also came with every friend and comrade he had failed to save.

 

One, with his guts spilling out from a tear in his stomach when he hadn’t gotten far away enough from a shrapnel bomb.

 

Another, with half his ribcage missing, blood pouring from his chest as his heart pumped desperately to keep him alive.

 

Another, whose death had been a quick one – sniper bullet straight through the eye.

 

_Countless more._

 

Harry would twine his fingers through John’s short cropped hair as he listened. His hand stroked along the lean muscles of his lover’s back – a body forged through pain and war – as the man trembled in his arms.

 

Each time, he’d have to remind the older man of the countless others he had saved on the frontlines. If he had to focus on those he lost, Harry whispered to John, then he also had to remember those who were alive because of him.

 

During the night, their secrets lay bare between them.

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: 
> 
> Hey, guys. Long time no write, ehehehe…I’m sorry…  
> Anyways, a bunch of shite happened – college applications and all that fun stuff, then midterms and blah, blah, blah. After a bit, this drabble fic kind of fell to the wayside. Fuck, I need to update the Hisoka fic too…shite.  
> I have so many plot bunnies rampaging around my head, it’s not even funny.  
> Also, I’m so sorry if the end of this chapter was so rushed… I actually wrote most of it in like December and I couldn’t really pick up the train of my thought at this point. Ugh. 
> 
> I might post a few new random drabble plot bunny shite sometime in the future, just FYI guys.
> 
> Ta~  
> Ari


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